


Curveball

by MadReisz



Category: Mewgulf, TharnType the Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Baseball, College, Crush, M/M, Sports, University, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadReisz/pseuds/MadReisz
Summary: *CHALLENGE FIC*Gulf always goes to watch Mew’s baseball games and sometimes he shows up for practice. Originally it was to gather information for his childhood friend, Mild. Recently, it’s been to watch Mew. Today though, he’s sitting on the rival’s side, because Mild practically begged him to.Mew feels like he plays better when his peer, nicknamed Yai Nong, is watching him. For the first time since the year began, he can’t seem to find his good luck charm in the crowd. When he does, he feels betrayal and jealousy.Mild is just trying to play baseball and ignore the hearts he can see growing in his friend’s eyes.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong, Mild Suttinut/Himself
Comments: 9
Kudos: 153
Collections: ABChallenge1





	Curveball

**Author's Note:**

> A challenge hosted by PapayaPanic (@PapayaPanic) and myself (@MadReisz7).
> 
> Topics: Baseball, sports spectating, or sports bar
> 
> Type: Oneshot
> 
> Length: Open
> 
> Pairing: MewGulf
> 
> Submission date: 3/31/20

“P’Mild.”

“P’Mild!”

“MILD!”

Dark eyes squint and he lifts his hand to cover his forehead, blocking the sun as best as possible. A tiny form peaks out from the side of the dugout infrastructure and a smile stretches Mild’s cheeks.

“That’s P’Mild to you! I’m surprised you really came, Nong!” 

His Nong rolls two pretty chestnut eyes, “you practically blackmailed me here.”

“You were going to come anyway!” Mild lets loose a loud laugh, which catches the attention of a man standing near his Nong. 

“Sawadee!” 

In turn, Mild holds his hands before his chest and bends his face down, before calling up, “Sawadee, P’Best!” 

“Too bad your team traveled from so far; otherwise there would definitely be more people here. I hear that your team is on a three game winning streak!” Best nudges his junior over more, as to get a better view around the covered dugout. 

Mild nods, his smile widening, before he points toward the youngest, “Why are you hiding behind P’Best, Nong Gulf?”

A mischievous look crosses Best’s face, “Nong thinks he stands out too much. Not many people are here and the ones who are, wear the team colors!” 

Best swings his arm toward the visiting spectators, which though low in number, are almost exclusively in the team colors of vibrant yellow and green. Both men give Gulf’s muted, earth-toned outfit an assessing look. 

Two thick brows come together, before shooting high and Gulf can tell from the look that Mild thinks he’s figured something out. Before either can say more, he moves back against the rail meant to stop people from falling down to the pitch below. He doesn’t want to give either his childhood friend, or his department alumni and family friend, the pleasure of laughing at him. 

A hand claps his shoulder blade and Best is waving goodbye to Mild, who seems much too smug for his own wellbeing. Gulf glances away, but his eyes seem to automatically find the muscular form of Mew across the way. 

“I can’t believe you forced me to sit on the visitor side of my own university's baseball game.” 

Mild turns around and looks across the field to see that the other team, much like his own, is standing around or already seated in the dugout. Just at the entrance of the dugout, talking to the coach, is Mew Suppasit. He’s the star pitcher of Chulalongkorn University’s Sam Yan Tigers, a senior student, and Mild’s ultimate rival. 

“Just make sure you watch out for his curveball, like I told you.” 

“And his pretty eyes, na?” 

Having been met with silence, Mild turns back and chuckles at the heated glare he’s receiving. He holds two hands in the air, but continues to huff out tiny laughs. 

“Listen, I’m going to go find P’Best.” 

Mild notices Gulf’s gaze shift back to the form across the field, “What are you so nervous about? Afraid your crush will see you?”

Sending a dry look toward his friend, Gulf shakes his head. He bends over the rail slightly, “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” Mild moves closer as well, his gaze unyieldingly fixated on Gulf’s. 

“But you didn’t deny the crush part.” 

There’s a beat of silence, then Gulf parts his lips with a ready response. He is interrupted by the announcement speaker and chooses instead to roll his eyes. 

. . .

Mew stands on the pitcher's mound, legs spread slightly, and facing the batting area. He is still, waiting. 

A member from the other team, bat in hand, is walking toward the designated area. His shoulders are low, but chin up. The player turns away from the mound first and nods at the umpire. It’s then that Mew notices the name scrawled across his opponents shoulders: Suttinut. He remembers his coach, P’Boss, saying that this junior player had been the breakout star so far this season. “His batting average was .500 last year. Watch out for his explosive running on the field. From the video footage we received, I gathered that the best technique would be to switch up the pitches.”

Mew notes the easy manner that Suttinut turns, as if answering the call of a friend. Suttinut’s bat shifts from his prominent hand and the player raises his free hand up, waving enthusiastically toward the crowd. A soft huff leaves Mew as he follows Suttinut’s line of vision with disbelief. His gaze gets caught on a familiar figure and his stomach drops. There, sitting opposite of his usual position, is Mew’s favorite patron and nong: Gulf Kanawut. 

Suddenly Mew can feel the bite of the sun along his bare arms and how it penetrates through his pink uniform. He rolls his shoulders back a few times before facing his opponent again. By now, Suttinut is grasping the bat with both hands and has moved into position. Mew shifts back a step on the mound, then forward once more, his cleats digging into the red dirt. Why does he feel unbalanced? 

“You good?” A teammate yells out, but Mew ignores them in favor of stepping forward once more. Satisfied, he winds back, leg lifting, and hurls the ball forward as he comes down. It goes low. Mild steps back, bat unmoving in his grip. The umpire catches the ball and flings it back.

Turning away from Suttinut, Mew closes his eyes briefly and resets himself. When he turns around again, the crowd disappears and only the batter before him exists. They will win.

. . .

It’s cooler inside the sports facility building, where the changing rooms are located. Gulf stands with his back against the wall, waiting with his arms crossed. He watches as the door opens and two players stumble out, laughing together. When they spot him, they nod a greeting and Gulf returns the gesture. Even when they’re gone though, his head does not lift again. He drops his arms and moves so that he is settled lower against the wall, legs stretched out, but foot tapping. 

The stray thought crosses his mind that Mew might have gone straight home or left using the back exit. Maybe he’s parked in one of the side lots. 

He hears the scrape of the door opening once more and the voices from the room flow out, then the sounds of footsteps follow after. The footfalls grow louder and he realizes belatedly that they are approaching him. Glancing forward, Gulf takes in the light washed jeans, ripped knees, and simple gray hoodie. Resting beneath swept back, wet locks is a familiar pair of dark eyes framed by thick black glasses. 

“P’Mew, Sawadee,” Gulf pushes away from the wall quickly and performs wai. 

Mew nods back, one hand raising slightly, “visiting spectators really aren’t supposed to be in this building.”

“...you noticed?” Gulf raises one hand to clamp at the exposed area of his neck and his eyes focus on the floor between them. 

Mew sniffs and shifts his weight, “you were one of twenty people and the only one who didn’t look like a highlighter.” 

When Gulf’s pout cracks into a grin, Mew feels his heart give chase. Mentally, he curses his own weakness and lack of self-control. He had meant to make his feelings of disappointment be known, not be comforting his junior with jokes. 

“I’m here because I wanted to let you know that Mild Suttinut is my best friend from childhood, we went to school together. He practically begged me to come see him today and sit on the Dragon’s side.” 

Mew hears the words, and a moment later they process as well, but he can’t actually think about what they mean when Gulf is maintaining eye contact like this. He swallows and looks away first, “I have to get going. I have an exam tomorrow and I need to study. See you later, Yai Nong.” He moves away then and doesn’t look back, even though his brisk pace lags behind the beating of his heart. 

“At practice!” Gulf calls out a moment later. 

He’s mid stride when he hears the words, yelled out like a promise, but he continues to move away. 

. . .

“How much longer?!” 

Mew chuckles as he picks up another baseball from the soft grass below. He looks over at Boat and tosses him the ball, which the other man catches easily and winds back to send it toward the pitcher’s mound. The ball falls short of the mound and Boat groans before sinking into a squat. “It’s too hot.”

“You’re just dehydrated. I warned you about drinking the night before practice, Nong. Go get some water and I’ll take care of the rest, practice is almost over anyway.” 

Boat swings his head up, eyes squinting against the sun behind Mew’s head, “You’re sure? Won’t P’Boss get mad?” 

Mew nods, then looks over toward Bosser, who’s busy with the batting practice. “Can’t have my future successor dying of heat stroke.” 

The younger shakes his head and stretches his legs out before fully standing once more. He sends his Pee a grin before jogging back to the dugout, where the water rests in the only available shade. For a moment, Mew stares after him before movement in the stands catches his eyes. He sees the awful highlight team colors of The Yellow Dragon’s, then the salmon shirt of his Yai Nong. Stomach twisting, he turns back to the sea of green below his feet and searches for the leather-bound spheres. Why was Gulf bringing a rival opponent to a practice anyway? 

A loud whistle interrupts his thoughts while he’s pitching yet another ball back towards home base. Then Boat is jogging back with a bucket for the remaining balls. They make quick work of clearing the back field, while the rest of the team diligently clean the cage, rake the base lines, and water the field. When they get back to the dugout, Boat tells Mew that he’ll take care of the rest.

The crowd for baseball practices is usually small, because the stands don’t have an awning and it’s easy to feel hot on days like today. Mew is gathering his glove and water, thoughts still churning about Suttinut and his Yai Nong, when someone clears their throat. He whips his head toward the sound and sees Bosser standing with his arms crossed, “Nong Mew, if something bothers you, you should address it immediately.”

“What are you talking about?” He feigns ignorance and chooses instead to turn back to his belongings, dumping the lukewarm water on the ground. 

A laugh booms from his coach, “I’m talking about that pretty boy you always make eyes at. What was the nickname you gave him? Yai Nong?” 

An internal heat blossoms along his cheeks and Mew moves to escape his meddling coach. Bosser lets him pass, but not without repeating the nickname, as if pondering its meaning. This causes Mew to increase his pace. He exits, and facing the team, calls out a farewell. Most of the members seem to hear and lift their arms to wave. 

Keeping his eyes trained on the gate before him, Mew briskly moves to open it. A familiar, soft tenor flows around him and he feels a flash of white hot something claw its way along his spine. The feeling leaves a bitter taste at the back of his throat and he curses Bosser for planting seeds in his mind. 

Exiting the field, he knows that he should just go straight toward the facility, but his legs betray rationality and carry him up a slim staircase. At the top, as if waiting for him, is his ruby-cheeked Nong alongside his team’s rival batter, Suttinut. 

The two boys wai toward Mew and he unwillingly performs the actions in return, a clipped “Sawadee” following suit. Gulf is smiling in that small way he used to do before Mew gave him a nickname and Yai Nong seemed to carry his shoulders with confidence. He’s shy, Mew realizes. 

“Nong Gulf, you shouldn’t bring rivals to practice,” he hates that he sounds like a father scolding his son, “though, I’m beginning to get the feeling that you’ve probably shared all kinds of important information with Suttinut.” 

“Mild,” the boy, his hair styled gently to one side, is smiling. 

Mew feels the disarming effects immediately, “What?”

“My nickname is Mild! You can call me that if you want, P’Mew.” 

Who gave this runt the right to use his given nickname? “Nong Mild, I’m sure knows more about the team than he should rightly know.”

Mild nods in agreement and turns his attention toward Gulf, who is staring at his Pee with wide eyes. He laughs and figures that he better help the poor baby before his head combusts, “Oh sure! He’s great at giving information; he’s constantly talking about how P’Mew is so strong, P’Mew is so fast, P’Mew pitches amazingly, P’Mew is handsome, P’Mew- Ow”

Rubbing his shin in exaggerated circles, Mild smiles smugly and winks at Gulf. Mew and Gulf are silent; Gulf is sending looks hotter than the temperature outside toward Mild and Mew is glancing between the childhood friends with his brows low, mouth pursed. The tension is building and Mild decides that his best choice is to present his most vulnerable side and back away slowly; he smiles once more and points to the side where a group of girls are chatting. 

“I’ll just be...over there if you need me.”

He leaves. 

“You think I’m all of those things?” Gulf turns back toward his Pee, “strong, fast...handsome?”

“Anyone can see that.”

“But you’re not just anyone-” the baseball player seems to rethink his original choice of words and pauses. Gulf feels the pause as if it is tangible and wishes Mew would continue so that his pulse could slow once more. Then at last, “you’re THE Yai Nong.”

How is he supposed to respond? Gulf is contemplating his best possible approach when his childhood friend decides to intervene once more by calling over to them.

“And you’re THE Khun Pi!”

The baseball player directs his attention toward Gulf wholly now, “Khun Pi?”

Gulf sinks down until he is sitting on the bleachers. He can tell by the burning that spreads from his neck up, that he’s blushing and the thought causes him to turn his face away from his inquisitor. 

“What does that mean?” 

Still refusing to look toward his senior, whose eyes he can feel burning the back of his head, he raises a single hand to dig deep into the strands just above the base of his skull. “It’s just a stupid nickname that I made up and use for you when I talk to Mild on the phone in public.” 

“If you’re just talking about my playing, why do you need a nickname?”

A rosy hue enters his peripheral and then he feels that Mew is taking a seat beside him. He inspects the black cleats, covered in a thin layer of dust, but still laced tightly. One shoe lifts and Gulf can tell that Mew has crossed one leg broadly over the other. 

“Unless you’re talking about other things,” Mew leaves the question open and the space it provides is pressing down on Gulf’s chest uncomfortably. 

The junior moves to stand, hands on his thighs ready to push up, but he’s halted when a strong hand grips his slender digits. Their fingers aren’t connected and the hold is slightly painful, but it lessens to a ghosting touch. Then the familiar smooth bass of the baseball player splits through the air like the crack of a baseball against the bat, “Don’t. Go, that is. I like it. I like it a lot, I wish you’d call me Khun Pi from now on.” 

His eyes must be giving him away, always too wide, because his senior chuckles. The sound, somehow both light and heavy, is what finally causes Gulf to lift his face. Mew’s face sets his heart aglow and he feels like he can breathe easily once more. His dark eyes are sparkling with mirth, lips forming into a perfect imitation of a cat, and cheeks rounding pleasantly. Gulf feels the pinky of the hand holding his twitch and his heart stutters in response. Then it slips out, “only if you go on a date with me,” and Gulf really wishes he could melt down and disappear

“A date?” Mew can’t believe his ears, which seem to be ringing. Before his brain can fully grasp the words uttered by his Yai Nong, the boy is pulling away, hand slipping free of the feather touch and his body is lifting. Mew stands as well.

Mew is blocking his way and Gulf can’t help but be hyper aware of the few inches that separate them. It’s like in his fantasies, except normally he doesn’t feel like throwing up. Okay, and maybe there are a few less articles of clothing. That is all beside the point, the point is-

“Yes.”

His vision swings up until he’s looking into those dark pools once more, “What?”

“I want to take you on a date,” Mew states with a smile.

“No, I want to take you on a date.”

Mew shakes his head, “Yai Nong, it will be me taking you out. You can pay if you want though.”

Gulf’s lips puff into a pout, which Mew finds entirely irresistible. Then they shift into a small smile accompanied by the happy crescents of Gulf’s eyes. “Okay, Khun Pi.”

**Author's Note:**

> Facts: 
> 
> \- To my knowledge neither of these universities (they're real) have baseball teams, but they do have soccer/futbol teams. That is what the uniforms are based on!
> 
> \- According to Google Maps, these two universities are located 10 hours away from one another (by car). 
> 
> \- The team names are actually the real nicknames of the teams for their respective schools.


End file.
